Certainty
by redrosemary
Summary: In a land full of uncertainty and little freedoms, Sten and Kallian struggle to find what they value, and cherish it when they do. A gift fic for orangeflavor.
1. Certainty

_This is my super very late Christmas gift fic for **Orangeflavor** , one of my favorite authors and definitely one of the best when it comes to Krem romance fics and angst. At the same time, it's also my experiment in style. Enjoy!_

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Certainty.

This land does not have it. Nobody possesses it. Not even in the gravest of dangers do its people see the need for it. The Blight is a time when certainty is needed most.

Sten is disgusted by these _bas_ , but how can he return to his people without his soul? _Traitor_. _Deserter_. He would be slain on sight by the Qun, but he would expect no less of it.


	2. Freedom

Kallian loves the feeling of freedom. She breathes the open airs of the Fereldan wilderness with much delight. Two out of three treaties are done; the last one, with the mages, should be a breeze.

She has freedom to go where she wants to, love whom she loves, do what she wants. There are limits, true—she must defeat the Blight, for one thing, by fulfilling the Warden treaties—but at least, she can do these on her own terms.

She can also go drinking while she's at it. She swears she was intoxicated while transversing the Brecilian Ruins. Is it her fault that the grateful Dalish gave her a packet of herbs meant to be smoked with special pipes, or that the pompous dwarven king gave her a stash of his best brew—the brew she occasionally shares with the dwarf warrior? And anyhow, didn't she break the werewolf curse, get rid of a pompous Dalish lord, and get said pompous dwarven king a silly throne, all in exchange for their armies against the Blight?

The love thing is her favorite perk. She can choose, for the first time in her life. No elders telling her whom to marry, no shem lords demanding her womanhood whether she likes it or not. Not that Kallian accepts just anybody's love. She took Alistair's rose, but found that she could not be with someone so… human. That rules out Leliana as well, especially when she mentioned that in Orlais, elves are little more than pretty slaves. She still has nightmares of the horrible shem pig Vaughn, despite the fact that she has gutted him and claimed her vengeance.

Zevran, on the other hand, knows what freedom, and love, are. Knows how precious they are, in that tone that belied great sadness about that other elf assassin. If Zev could love once, he could probably do it again. Or not. There's no certainty in that. Anyhow, not even Kallian could dictate on his heart.

And that is what makes his affection more precious. It is free, and it is uncertain.

Its uncertainty makes it all the more beautiful.


	3. Roles

Sten does not understand what 'love' means.

Why the elf Warden smiles whenever the assassin is near.

Qunari view sex as a means to sire children, or to relieve the body. But one does not 'love' the mate, even if one can value and desire her.

The weaker warden speaks up to him in camp one night while they were on shared duty.

"Why are you so condescending of Kallian?" he asks. A very stupid question.

Sten sighs. Under the circumstances, attempting to even educate this bas is futile.

But Sten also knows that this warden would not let him go without an answer.

"I have told her. Women are priests, artisans, merchants," he tries to say as clearly and as articulately as he can. "Women are not warriors. Women do not fight. They belong to the home, to schools, to the temples."

"Many women are warriors," the human elaborates his ignorance. Sten has heard that this one is a prince, even. "You don't need to look very far. Some of our opponents are women. The queens and warriors of Ferelden and other Thedosian countries have also seen battles."

Sten sighs. There is only one certainty in the southern lands: its peoples are barbarians without purpose, without unity.

"Kallian is doing everything," Alistair makes his point clear. His voice is not the usual, cajoling tone he uses with everyone else. "Even with a tenth of the effort she's putting, she's getting more things done than anybody else in this country."

There is some truth in that, Sten has to admit to himself, but not to that human. He watches said human go silent as he adds more firewood to their campfire, which burns brightly.


	4. Beauty

They are at the Circle Tower, or what is left of it. The troupe is here to fulfill the last Grey Warden treaty as well as to get the aid of the mages for the abomination problem in Redcliffe.

If it were up to Sten, the saarebas in Redcliffe would die. Swiftly.

But the bas in their troupe have outvoted him. And instead of beheading the little abomination, the elf Warden decides to have the swamp witch put him in even more spells, supposedly "to contain him until we could get help."

Sten hates the Circle tower. It is the embodiment of everything that can go wrong when saarebas go unleashed, without arvaraad to guide them. Without the certainty of the Qun.

And the Wardens still think that obtaining mages for their cause is remotely a good idea?

"That's Moira the Rebel Queen!" the human warden exclaims, as they find a framed painting over a charred corpse in this desolate place.

"Such family resemblance!" the elf says, punching her companion in the shoulder. "Wait till Leliana sees this. She'll sing endlessly about the uncanny resemblance between ancestor and descendant, fighting a hopeless but noble cause!"

"Oh please, don't make fun of me again," the human warden foolishly mumbles.

"It is a rare gift to see this still unharmed," the old bas saarebas says serenely, breaking the joking mood of the two wardens. As it should be. The Blight is no joking matter. Bas Saarebas running around summoning demons is no joking matter. But he is not sure that the old bas saarebas's serenity is the same as his. If she is even truly serene, or even thoughtful.

"Paarshara!" Sten exclaims. "We have no time to dabble on this."

Sten takes the painting, and moves to throw it back to the pile of rubbish on which the elf found it. But his eyes glance on the canvas, how the painter delicately wielded his brush as Sten would his sword.

And the red-haired woman in the painting. She holds her sword and her standard in triumph over a ruined fancy chariot. A barbarian queen celebrating victory over her painted foes; if even half of what he has read and heard about her is true, she should be Basvaraad. Someone worthy of following.

It is beautiful. More than that, it has certainty.

Sten should not have been hasty, he should have seen the beauty of this thing. It contained more beauty than anything he has ever seen in this cold, blighted country.

"Woah, big guy, if you want it, you could have said something," the elf chides him. Small thing that she is, she looks up to meet his eyes. "Just don't burn it or throw it with the rubbish."

She is unwavering. Her voice may be playful, but her eyes are not joking. She, too, does not want this beautiful thing to be thrown back into the rubbish pile.

Perhaps she is not as callow as she appears. And as his eyes travel again to the red-haired queen, he is forced to reexamine his opinion of her, bas women warriors, and this strange, uncertain country of contradictions.


	5. Callow

"You are not quite as callow as I thought," Sten tells her in camp after they have secured the aid of the mages.

Kallian is carrying a small sack of carrots and potatoes from the dwarf merchants and walking towards the fire where Leliana is skinning some hares.

"Uh… thanks?" Kallian does not know how to respond. She is suddenly aware of how heavy the vegetables are. "You're not quite as… scary as I thought you'd be."

 _Oafish_ is the word on Kallian's mind. _Blunt_ , even. Or _has-a-stick-up-his-arse_.

Kallian, after all, is doing everything to end the Blight. Even if she does enjoy drinking while she is at it. And having fun. With Zevran. Nobody, not even Sten, has the right to judge her how she is getting things done.

Because she _is_ getting things done. The dwarves, the Dalish, and the Circle have pledged to aid her. And now they are on their way to Arl Eamon. Their plan is right on track.

So having a little fun's allowed, right? Their little company makes coin from selling whatever junk they find. The painting would have fetched a pretty price, but if Sten likes it, then he'll get it. After all, Kallian allows dibs: Morrigan on the shiny stuff, Leliana on Chantry stuff, Alistair on statues and carvings, Wynne on books, Oghren on ale, and Zevran, he gets the best for himself: Kallian's company. And the unadorned gold bars that merchants aren't buying for their proper price but are too valuable to throw.

Sten, on the other hand, does not get dibs. He barely talks, unless spoken to. And he isn't the epitome of friendship and warmth either. He does not want the company of others.

But Sten isn't all that certainty-rigidness-whatever he projects. She didn't believe the first time Leliana said that Sten is fond of flowers and cookies and kittens, but if Kallian has not seen, with her own eyes, how he munched on the sweets she intended to share with everybody else, she would have branded it as one of Leliana's fanciful tales.

But whatever, Kallian is still unaware of how to go on. This is certainly something to add to her Book of Awkward Situations, if ever she gets to write one. So instead she thanks him and helps Leliana with dinner.

And she resolves to bring more stuff that he likes; Sten gets dibs on cookies from now on.


	6. Defiance

Just when Sten thinks that there could be some sense, some logic, in the elf warden's mind, he proves himself wrong again.

She is leading their party in the middle of the mountains of nowhere. The blight is rampaging, and she is leading an expedition to find some dead woman's ashes.

There is only one thing to do. He hears in his heart a demand of the Qun: he must take charge and lead this country of pathetic bas to victory, before the Blight reaches Qunari lands.

He tells her, but she deflects his threats with humor.

What choice does he have? He readies his blade: a fine silverite thing, she said when she gave it to him, but it is not his sword. He would never find his sword again.

But that does not matter. What matters are the Blight, and the lack of focus of their leader.

She looks at him, cold fury in her eyes. She commands her other companions to stay silent, and they obey her. Defiance is in their eyes, but not in their acts; yet she does not heed them.

She is agile. She is strong. And she defeats him, because before he even has a chance to swing his silverite sword, her own dragonbone daggers are crossed at his throat.

"Get back in line, Sten," she says, as if challenging him to defy her. Her voice was shrill, but it was no less authoritative than any of the Tamassran. "If _I_ say that we're going to make Arl Eamon well again by getting the Ashes, we're going to make Arl Eamon well again by getting the Maker-damned Ashes! Unless you, or any other of you, have a better idea. Now's the fucking time to say it!"

The red-haired priestess spoke. "You've led us this far, and never one astray, Kallian. I would support you in this one."

The human warden, the elf assassin, the old bas saarebas, the dwarf, and even the ill-mannered bas saarebas give their Warden leader their own oaths of support.

Sten understands that the look of the others in their eyes was not defiance. It was respect. It is why they, though fearing for her, did not draw their blades as she commanded.

At that moment, he knew he was wrong to have ever flipflopped about doubting her. He decides never to break her orders again, so long as the Blight remains.

She has a certain… certainty about her. She _will_ finish this job, even if that meant that she has to see the ashes of a dead woman first and get some nobleman bas a strange magic potion second.

Even if it meant his defiance.


	7. Generous

That shem lord, Arl Eamon, has the air of someone used to having all his orders obeyed. He even has Alistair wrapped around his finger. Kallian is not sure she absolutely likes him, but Eamon does command a large army of Fereldan knights, and he's the only human lord who offers the Wardens succor.

Beggars can't be choosers, Kallian decides. She'll have to think about Eamon's ulterior motives some other time; Loghain and the Blight are more pressing matters.

Kallian yawns and stretches in an extravagant chair in an extravagant room in a shem castle she is still amazed she is under no obligation to clean. With a smile, she realizes the time: she is due for a treat, a well-deserved bath. Preferably, in a hot tub, with aromatic salts that would make an Orlesian noble squeal with delight.

She finds that Zevran has arranged it. Good, very good. Even the clothes they would wear afterwards, though she doubts they'll need those. But Zevran must wait a little longer; she forgot to take the aromatic salts she bought in Denerim in her room.

So Kallian walks back to her room, not really in a hurry, and with a silly smile plastered to her face as she daydreams about Zevran's little treats.

Her smile is wiped from her face as she sees Sten waiting for her by the door to her room. She realizes that she must put on her boss-face for this guy if he is to respect her. Even if she is, for the moment, off-duty.

"Hey, big guy," she says, daring to use her old nickname for him again. Also, it is her way of asserting her dominance over him: she can call him whatever she wanted to.

"It has come to my attention that there is something I must ask of you," he says. Weirdly and serenely, as always.

Kallian is generous, but her mind is elsewhere. Why of all times did this giant choose to talk to her?

"Can it wait?" she asks. "Just for about an hour. Maybe two, but I promise you, if you need something really important, we'll get it done."

And then Kallian remembers. She managed to procure Sten's sword, with a combination of her charm, tracking techniques and a little intimidation of crooked merchants. The sword was in her room. She wonders why she keeps forgetting to give it to him; she's had it since coming to Redcliffe two days ago.


	8. Completion

There is no moment better than the present. Sten is certain of it, even if the elf warden is not.

"I must apologize about the events in Haven," he says solemnly. "Your lord arose, and he has promised you aid. You have built a formidable army, Warden."

The elf smiles—not the foolish, infatuated smile she has on just a few moments ago.

"Don't do it again," she tells him. She opens her bedroom door and takes a small pouch, which she puts in her pocket. And then she tries to reach for her travelling pack, which is unfortunately placed in a high shelf.

Sten does not need to be asked about this. He takes the initiative and hands the Warden her bag.

"No, you open it," she tells him, that intelligent smile still on her face.

He does, and behold, he holds his soul again in his hands. Asala.

Completion.


	9. Valuable

Kallian is not sure why she got Sten his sword back. In Haven, he was _definitely_ insubordinate, challenging her like that. And most unwise; the Blight could not be defeated without even one noble ally. She thinks of what others would have done in her place; Shianni would have probably bottled him for that insubordination. Leliana or Alistair might have tried to reason with him. Oghren or maybe Zevran would have probably deferred to Sten.

She doesn't like to think about kindnesses too seriously. All she knows is that he asked this of her, believing it to be a lost cause, but since she got leads anyway she decided whyever not?

She would not have made any inquiries at all if Haven happened first, but it did not. What's done is done. She has the sword, and no good would it do to her to keep it.

Kallian does not notice something change in Sten. She wanted to go back to her bath, to Zevran and his Antivan massages.

"Thank you… kadan," the giant whispers, his voice heavy.

"I have a name, you know," Kallian says in a mirthful, if rushing, voice. "Kallian Tabris. As does everyone else in the group. There's Zevran, Morrigan, Alistair, Leliana, Wynne, Oghren and our mabari, Chaser. And then there's Bodhan and Sandal, don't ever forget they provide us most of our resources."

She understands that in the Qun, they have no names, only designations, even job descriptions. That would be too strange, too otherworldly: names gave people their identity, the beginning of their freedoms. Too much rigidness that forbids even names frightens her. She does not want to be reduced to only her rank, her purpose. She wants to be valued for what she is, not what she is capable of or is designated to do.

"What does 'kadan' mean?" she asks him.

"It means 'someone highly valued,'" Sten says with a smile. "You, Kallian Tabris, are the only one of high value here, in this cold blighted land."

"That's not necessarily true," Kallian answers, delighted that she finally made the giant smile. "You like cookies, yes, and kittens? And Leliana's seen you picking flowers. Surely, they are valuable too."

"Yes, and no," Sten answers. "But you will learn that, in time. You will learn that value is not necessarily tied to duty, even if most things valuable are dutiful. Like beauty. It is valuable. But for now, go back to your lover. He is waiting for you, and those fragrant things in your pocket."

Kallian smiles. That was the longest discussion she's had with Sten, and the weirdest in her life with anyone. She's not sure Zevran would believe her if she told him about this.


	10. Kadan

Sten is not certain if Kallian would ever be as happy as he is, a complete man. With his soul, his sword, returned to him, he could go back. But not without finishing this task.

He would follow the kadan, Kallian Tabris, to the resolution of her heavy burden. And if the time comes that the Qun demands that the southern barbarians be educated and civilized, he is certain that she would resist. For her, her freedom is kadan, and that she would die in defense of it; he would not look for her in that battlefield.


End file.
